Truman sighed as he seemed to weigh how much to divulge. I had a habit of accidentally inserting myself into his investigations, and he would occasionally keep me privy to information if I gave him some in exchange.
“We’ll need to subpoena the records from the phone company to get the official story. But Becca was very forthcoming about handing over her cell phone. And, at first glance, it appears like Becca is telling the truth. She didn’t text Felicity to come over and buy the dress.”
“Unless she erased the texts.” I winced as the accusation flew unbidden from my mouth. I couldn’t believe I’d just tried to implicate a bride I was working with, even if it was Becca.
Truman gave me an appraising look and raised one bushy brow. “That’s why we’ll need the official texting log. But it barely matters. We’ve had a chance to look through Felicity’s phone, and sure enough, someone did text Felicity about purchasing the gown. Someone purporting to be Becca. We’ve run the number. It looks like it’ll turn out to be a burner phone. We’re putting a trace on it, of course, but that’s what I expect to find.”
“That doesn’t mean it still wasn’t Becca, trying to throw you off her trail.”
“Becca and Keith were with you the entire time of the tasting. Did you notice them using their cell phones?”
I thought for a minute. “Keith did text, and he told us he was contacting his mother.” I felt a rueful smile turn up the corners of my mouth. “He’s still attached to Mama Helene’s hip.” My smile slipped from my face. “Becca did step out at one point to use the powder room. She could have texted Felicity from a burner phone then.”
“I know there’s no love lost between you and Ms. Cunningham,” he said. “But I’m not willing just yet to make her my number one suspect.”
“There’s Tanner.” I cocked my head and considered the lanky professor. “He seemed to be acting like a bereaved person would, under the awful circumstances. Until he tried to pry off Felicity’s ring.” I shook my head at the memory of Tanner’s bizarre behavior poolside after Felicity had been taken from the water.
“Shock can make people do strange things,” Truman agreed. “But we always look at the significant other, as a matter of course.”
“And then there’s the Alma connection.” I brought up Becca’s grandmother and carefully gauged Truman’s reaction.
He was impassive and nodded. “I think Alma wants me to believe Felicity tried to murder her. According to Alma, Felicity tried to broker purchase of Alma’s entire Gone with the Wind collection. Felicity would badger Alma at all hours, day and night. Alma never took her seriously because she didn’t think Felicity had the funds to buy it all, and because she wasn’t interested in selling.” He shook his head and stared into the now-navy-blue night. “It’s awfully convenient that Alma has insinuated that Felicity tried to strangle her to steal her collection and now Felicity is dead.”
I couldn’t stifle a guffaw. “Are you thinking that sweet little old lady had anything to do with Felicity’s death?” It was laughable. Alma was a spitfire, but she wasn’t capable of murder.
Truman gave me a withering look and settled back in his chair. “It’s just something to keep in mind, Mallory. No one’s accusing Alma of anything.” He flipped his notebook closed. “I’m more interested in how this all fits together, or if these are just random occurrences. Felicity told Tanner she called you to set up a meeting for their wedding, yet she didn’t. Why?”
“She seemed pretty excited about her engagement in Silver Bells,” I mused. “Well, at least she was excited to shove her ring in Becca’s face.”
“Yes, according to Tanner, they got engaged two nights before she died.”
I nodded my agreement. “That’s what she said in Silver Bells too.” I remembered what Becca had said on the deck. “Maybe Becca’s right. Maybe it was a suicide.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll need to do an autopsy. And Becca has reasons to cast doubt on Felicity being murdered at her home.” Truman seemed to weigh whether to go on. “You’re not from here, so you wouldn’t know of their rivalry. Becca Cunningham and Felicity Fournier have been locking heads practically since toddlerhood. Of course, Becca wouldn’t want her rival turning up dead on her property.”
Unless she was behind it all.
I shivered again, and made a note to watch my step around Becca for the duration of the next two weeks.
“And how, or if this relates to the attempted murder of Alma and the robbery of her collection? Time will tell, and I hope to resolve this quickly.” Truman stood to go.
A stray thought percolated in the back of my head. “And I wonder if this has any connection to the murder of Alma’s husband Glenn last year?” I hadn’t had a chance with the grisly whirlwind of events of the last few days to look into what the online newspaper archives said about Becca’s grandfather’s murder. I squirmed in my chair and tried to decide if it was a good idea agreeing to look into his murder at the behest of Alma.
Truman’s affable face fell a degree and then took on a shuttered look. Clouds gathered in his hazel eyes, and I knew the conversation was over.
Oops.
I regretted at once bringing up the unsolved murder. A tidal wave of tiredness crashed over me. I thought of the loose ends I needed to tie up for tomorrow’s baby shower before I could crawl up to bed. I hadn’t even begun to leaf through the prodigious binder Alma had given me for her theater reopening. Rachel was right. I was overwhelmed, and we needed to hire more help to address our expanding business.
“Good night, Mallory.” Truman’s smile returned briefly. “Stay safe.”
* * *
The next day dawned crisp and clear and sunny. I lay in my bed as rays of light spilled onto the honeyed wooden floors, and a series of birds trilled with delight outside my window. Soda, the little orange fluff ball, alighted on the bed to receive her usual morning cuddles and pets. Her mother, the calico Whiskey, remained dozing at the foot of the bed. She opened one eye as I threw back the covers, then got up and indulged in a resplendent kitty-cat stretch.
I showered and donned a yellow sundress and denim jacket to host my friend Whitney’s baby shower. I was looking forward to a day of no drama, just good, clean fun. We’d be celebrating a new baby today. What could be more innocent than that?
Rachel and I ferried food out to the carriage house, where the event would be held. The space was decorated with murals in a nod to the vehicles that had once resided there. One long wall held paintings of turn-of-the-nineteenth-century cars. Model Ts and antique Rolls-Royces marched down the wall in a profusion of jewel tones. The opposite wall featured paintings of the elaborate horse-drawn carriages used at Thistle Park when it was first built. It was the perfect space to host a car-and-transportation-themed shower for a baby boy. The decorations Rachel and I strung up and placed at each table echoed the existing decorations in the space. Rachel placed the cake, a replica of a red toy windup car, at its place of honor on the sideboard. Caterers from the restaurant Fusion arrived with beautiful pyramids of sushi. The mom-to-be, Whitney, had been craving the dish but hadn’t been able to partake of raw fish due to her pregnancy. The restaurant had crafted a careful menu of cooked and vegetarian sushi that Whitney could consume. I was excited the shower was coming together so nicely.
“I have to admit, Rach, maybe you were right. I’m having a blast putting together these extra events.”
Rachel beamed and stood from scattering a smattering of mint leaves into the punch. “I told you it’d be worth it. And with the extra revenue—”
“What is this? Sushi?” Becca’s reedy voice cut through our amiable chatter. “But I was going to have sushi at my Asian fusion wedding! Mallory, are you using this shower to upstage me?” Becca’s pretty face was mottled with blotches of red. I glanced around, happy to find that the guest of honor, Whitney, had yet to arrive.
“Becca, take a deep breath.” I tentatively laid a hand on her arm. “Your wedding is prim
arily Gone-with-the-Wind- themed, so there won’t be any upstaging from this baby shower.” I studiously avoided looking at my sister, who was giggling as she adjusted platters of food.
“I’ve had a change of heart.” Becca’s mouth took on a petulant pout. “After what happened with Felicity and my dress, I don’t want to do a Gone with the Wind wedding. I’d wanted to honor Alma, but I just can’t go through with it.”
I don’t blame you.
The ghastly scene at the pool yesterday was enough for me to agree with Becca. Though if I were being honest, I wasn’t entirely sure Becca didn’t have something to do with Felicity’s murder.
“I see your point. I’ll see what food we have arriving from our vendors, and we’ll go back to one of the earlier plans for your wedding.”
Becca’s face relaxed a marginal degree, until a new voice ricocheted through the carriage house.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Helene strode purposefully over to us, her kitten heels striking the floor with such force, I expected to see brimstone. “There isn’t time to come up with a new wedding plan with your big day so close upon us.”
I found myself inexplicably agreeing with Helene and braced myself for whatever ulterior motive she had in mind. Becca took a step back and waited for that shoe to drop as well.
“I had to stop by to see you myself, Becca, since you won’t deign to return my phone calls.”
Becca cringed as Helene went on.
“So we will have no choice but to return to the ideas I proposed.” Helene clasped her hands, dripping with jewels, before her. “I see white ostrich feathers, pink and cream peonies, and peach damask tablecloths. You can accent with cream pearls and lace and candles.”
I felt my mouth open and close. I had to at least give Helene consistency points. This was the vision for the wedding she’d decreed for me and Keith a year ago. I’d grown so weary of fighting her every demand that I’d eventually just given in and planned the wedding to her specifications.
“And we already have the menu set. We’ll go with the dishes you served at the tasting I attended. Prime rib, chicken piccata, potatoes, and white cake.” Helene’s face flushed and glowed with the thrill of victory.
Becca looked as if she’d cry. I felt a rush of empathy for her, and barely refrained from giving her arm a squeeze. It was mentally tiring going from pitying and understanding Becca to suspecting her for Felicity’s murder.
“I guess so.” Becca’s voice was miserable, but she acquiesced.
“Good. I knew you’d come around. I must be off.” Helene offered us a triumphant smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She left as quickly as she’d arrived, more than earning her moniker of Hurricane Helene. She trailed a sharp cloud of Calèche in her wake.
I felt Becca deflate next to me. Her left eye twitched. She unclenched her fists and gave a shaky laugh. “Helene always gets her way in the end.”
I shivered as Becca stalked off.
“What if Helene orchestrated Felicity’s murder to stymie plans for a Gone with the Wind wedding?” The thought popped out of my mouth as quickly as it had entered my head.
Rachel laughed and shook her head, her peacock-feather earrings skimming her shoulders. “Nah, that’s too crazy, even for the likes of Helene. She’s just up to her usual tricks. Ones you know very well.”
Rachel was right, down to the act of Helene tracking you down in person if you dared to ignore her calls or didn’t call back within half an hour.
“Speaking of crazy ideas . . .” A thought bubbled up in my head. I closed my eyes and thought of the basement, where a neat stack of boxes rested among extra tables, linens, and chairs for various wedding setups. The boxes of favors and decorations from my own defunct wedding to Keith lay calmly entombed in Thistle Park’s cellar, waiting for their day in the sun.
“Rachel, what do you think of using the favors from my wedding for Keith and Becca’s big day? Is that too tacky?”
Rachel shook her head, a slow smile lighting up her face. “I think it’s perfect. Besides, desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“No one would know, not even Keith.” He hadn’t taken much of an interest in our wedding decor back then. It was all Helene’s whims and wishes come to life. And she’d decreed the same exact decorations, right down to the pearls and ostrich feathers. Which conveniently reposed in storage right on this property.
“Becca won’t know either.” Rachel’s face grew solemn. Back when I’d been engaged to Keith, Becca had been the official other woman. She probably had never thought of what had become of my wedding decorations.
“Okay. It’s a plan.” I felt strangely better, knowing the old decorations would finally be put to good use. Not to mention there was one less task on my list.
“Mallory!” A gorgeous and hugely pregnant woman crossed the room to envelope me in as much of a hug as she could give.
“Whitney, you’re glowing.” It was true. Whitney had dressed in a simple, polka-dot blue dress for her shower, her lovely strawberry-blond hair curled over her shoulders. Her brown eyes shone as she turned a slow circle to take in the decorations.
“This space looks magnificent. This will be such a lovely shower.” The mother-to-be gave Rachel a hug and nearly bounced on the balls of her feet with excitement.
“Whitney!” Becca embraced her cousin, and to her credit, seemed to have dropped the pouty act over dueling wedding plans and baby shower themes. Becca seemed genuinely happy for her cousin.
“And Samantha, I haven’t seen you in so long.” Whitney doled out an extra-long hug for her other cousin.
“I’m so glad I could be here for your shower since I had to miss your wedding last fall.” Samantha patted her cousin’s back, and tears dotted the corners of her eyes.
The shower was soon underway. Guests dined on sushi and chicken tempura, and sipped two kinds of punch, one spiked with champagne, the other nonalcoholic. Soon Whitney was cutting into the car cake, which Rachel and I carefully served. Whitney ambled over after finishing her dessert.
“There’s one guest missing.” She sighed. “Felicity was supposed to be here.” Whitney’s pleasant voice was tinged with sadness.
I looked up sharply from the tower of diaper boxes I’d been straightening. “I hadn’t realized she was on the guest list.” It was true. I’d made sure I’d gotten an accurate head count for the event, and managed the RSVPs, but Felicity’s name hadn’t been on my radar until yesterday.
Whitney shook her head. “I’d been debating not extending an invitation. I was friends with Felicity, but she and Becca were famous rivals. It’s horrific that Felicity ended up passing away in Becca’s pool.”
I nodded, speechless that word had traveled so fast and so far. There had been an article in the paper about Felicity being found on Keith and Becca’s property, but the specifics weren’t made public yet.
“Becca told me everything,” Whitney rushed on, rubbing her ample belly. “I can’t help but wonder what would have led Felicity to such despair. I hope it wasn’t all because of a silly dress.”
So Whitney thinks it was a suicide.
I was sure that’s what others would think too. Especially because Felicity was found wearing the Scarlett O’Hara dress, and in Becca’s pool no less. But what if someone just wanted everyone to think Felicity had committed suicide?
“So lovely to celebrate a new life.” Alma materialized at my side, shuffling over while leaning heavily on her cane.
“Alma! I wasn’t expecting you.” I bent and gingerly gave the woman a hug, which she returned with full force. I recalled that Alma had been on the guest list for the shower but had assumed she’d still be home recuperating.
“I’m a little late,” she apologized, waving to her granddaughters Becca and Samantha. “And Whitney isn’t technically my relation. She’s related to Jacqueline’s side of the family.” The sprightly woman gave a shrug. “But I’m always invited to her events. I’m the life of the party, you know.”
She gave a hearty chuckle, her scarf slipping a bit. Today’s fabric was a vivid purple. Alma quickly retied the scarf so as not to treat guests to a view of her bruised neck.
“I’m so glad you could make it.” Alma truly must have been on the mend if she could show up for the shower, late or not.
Her gaze grew wistful as she took in the pregnant Whitney. “My Glenn would have loved to have had some great-grandchildren. I’m so happy Becca is marrying Keith in less than a fortnight. Maybe I’ll get to be a great-grandmother after all.” She leaned toward me conspiratorially. “Have you asked Truman if he has any leads about my Glenn?”
I gulped a swig of punch down the wrong pipe and sputtered into a napkin. Several heads turned toward me, and I quickly struggled to regain composure. “Um, I did mention your husband.” I was squirming internally. I felt like I’d been thrust into the position of a spy, gathering secrets to report back to Alma. “Truman didn’t really have anything to say.”
“Not this time,” Alma snorted. “Truman knows more than he’s said to me, and I’m hoping you’ll get to the bottom of it.” She sighed, suddenly seeming all of her ninety years. “Although with the death of Felicity, he’ll have his hands full.” A small smile crept up over her lined face. “Bless her poor, dear heart.” Her sympathy for Felicity was syrupy sweet, more akin to saccharine than maple sugar.
“I know Felicity was badgering you, but it’s still a tragedy.” I was inwardly appalled at Alma’s apparent gloating regarding Felicity’s death. But I was talking to thin air. Alma had spotted someone else she knew and had flitted away, leaning on her cane, before I had spoken my rebuke. It was just as well. I wondered if Felicity had annoyed others as much as she had Alma. Maybe her ending up dead at Becca and Keith’s wasn’t the result of her suicide.
I shivered, then shook off the macabre thoughts. After a rousing round of shower games, Samantha and Becca helped to divvy up prizes. Rachel and I served coffee, tea, and cookies. Whitney opened present after present and seemed delighted at amassing a tidy pile of baby onesies, booties, and hats. Behind her, her mother and mother-in-law worked to organize a flotilla of baby gear and gadgets. Women happily exclaimed over the loot, and all was merry and well. Ian, Whitney’s husband, arrived, a slow smile lighting up his face, exposing his chipped-tooth grin. Women rushed to congratulate the parents-to-be.
Gown with the Wind Page 10
